


cliché of first love

by KnotOnYourLife



Category: Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side, Tokimeki Memorial Girl's Side: 3rd Story
Genre: Age Difference, Community: seasonofkink, F/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:37:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnotOnYourLife/pseuds/KnotOnYourLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love is so much easier for the inexperienced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cliché of first love

**Author's Note:**

> seasonofkink 2k16: age kink (free space)

_It's easy to lie_ , you think to yourself. You feel like you spend a lot of your time doing it, these days. Every time your editor asks _is it ready_ or _have you progressed_ or any such question. Being with _her_ , and seeing your editor, and immediately taking her by the shoulders and proclaiming " _she's my niece--!_ "

It worked in the moment, but it persisted, somehow - maybe a lie, maybe an excuse. Like a 'niece' would visit their 'uncle'. It's paper-thin and you know it, and you think that she knows it too - but how could you understand the inner workings of the teenage girl's mind? You don't have any siblings, but wonder how your fictional sibling would react if that theoretical was true, and they were to ask _how is she? It isn't a burden, is it, to have her visit?_ and it's late, and your editor won't call, and she's knelt between your legs with your cock in her mouth, hands against your inner thighs, moving with more enthusiasm than skill in the act.

It feels like an age since that casual conversation, where she mentioned that she'd had a birthday. _You're in the third year, aren't you? That means you're eighteen, right?_ You can legally fuck her, but again, that excuse is as flimsy as anything. It's a convenient excuse, though you're sure that her parents wouldn't approve if you'd done it six months ago or today. That first time you'd met her - that you barely remember - she'd been sixteen. She was seventeen when you declared her your niece, to get you out of a pinch. She was seventeen when you saw her there in her school uniform, realizing that she was a student from Habataki, when that flood of memory came back to you.

She's eighteen now, but it barely matters. She's still a student, for the time she has remaining. Still turns up at your place in that familiar uniform, with talk of _classwork_ and _homework_ and _exams_ and _teachers_. You take the tiniest shred of a shared past, and grab it with both hands. When she talks like that, it's like it was yesterday - your own time at Habataki, the particular stressors that came from your student responsibilities, that time when you yourself had been young and innocent and taken in by the thought of a _first love_. You remember that girl - it's unlikely that you would ever forget, but you still remember her. You wonder what happened to her; it's been long enough now that she could be on the other side of the world, with her own memories of Habataki barely more than a passing thought. You think of her, but would she remember you? You doubt it. Such is the bitterness of teenage infatuation.

It's different with _her_. She doesn't fit into your memories, but you can see how she would. If you'd been students together, would you even have noticed her? You wonder. But now, here she is, still smiling when you pretend to be related and sucking your cock like nothing from your memories. In a way, that spurs you on; isn't it always in the news these days, how wild teenagers are now? Maybe some of your classmates were fucking, and you never knew. When you were her age, the thought of sleeping with anybody was terrifying, but you're not her age and she is and she straddles your hips and takes your dick like she has many times before and you wonder the truth of those _teenage girls gone wild!_ sensationalist pieces.

She was a virgin, though. You'd teased her, making those languid assumptions that she _must_ be sexually active, because isn't that what students are like, these days? And she'd blushed, fiercely, saying that she wasn't like that, she'd never done anything like that-- and stared at your erection like she'd never seen one before (which, you suppose, she probably hadn't), and trembled in your arms enough for you to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was telling the truth. _But you still agreed to this, didn't you?_ Maybe she'd been the epitome of a blushing virgin, but she still pursued a man so much her elder, still followed him home, still agreed to fuck him after the merest hint of seduction.

 _Adults ruin everything_ , you think, as you grind deep within her. That first time you'd seen her in uniform, you'd thought of your youth - and now this symbol of your adolescence, this _angel_ , is pinned by you on your bed and moaning with a wavering voice as you pound her so hard the headboard raps against the wall. _This is what adult relationships are like_. You silence her with a kiss, fucking her mouth with your tongue as you feel the sound of her voice against you. She's inexperienced enough that this is still overwhelming - feeling her spasm around you spurs on your own climax, and you come into the condom within her because as much as there might be some visceral sense of exhilaration from fucking a student bareback, you've seen _that_ go wrong enough times not to chance it.

And despite all of that, she still smiles and waves when she leaves, still greets you with that same bright smile when you see her next. It's almost frustrating how innocent she still seems - you end up in bed with her more days than not, but you still wander near the school and see her at the gates with her friends like she was any other student, almost as if the lie of teenage innocence was, here, a fact. You've had enough bad sex in failed relationships to know that this isn't that, but that that also doesn't have much to do with anything; it's easy to be impressed when you don't have much experience, after all. When she stands, naked, in front of you, she still blushes and looks away. She's probably falling for you, and you don't think it's being too forward of you to think that; _that's bad_ , you think to yourself. If she was telling the truth, and she really _hadn't_ had any romantic or sexual experience, and now she was getting attached to you... that probably made you her first love... right? You weigh that thought up in your mind, discarded cigarette butts filling the ashtray on your desk.

 _It's easy to get attached, at that age. Everything seems so new and exciting_. You've taken her in and you've fucked her and you've never pretended that this was anything more than what it is, and she still comes back to you. Much as you admire her, you're not convinced that she knows what she's doing. Maybe she _thinks_ she knows what she's doing, and maybe that makes it worse. She's only one girl, after all, and it would be easy enough to not see her again - lock your door, refuse to answer, let her be discouraged, break her heart. Again, _it's easy at that age_. If it wasn't you, it would just be some boy in her class. Just because you've been sleeping together doesn't make it any less inevitable - and that's maybe something she doesn't know, that she hasn't learnt yet. So easy to fall into the trap of _sex means love means forever_ , the most childish thought of all. You barely want to ask her what she thinks, in case of _that_ worst case scenario.

Of course, if she was the type to fuck without feeling it, then she wouldn't be the person you'd fallen for, either. It's different for you, though, because you know what you're doing; that doesn't mean you can stop it, or do much more than the most cursory damage limitation, but at least you _know_. Sleeping with her hadn't broken the spell, and that was the dangerous part; she still seemed so radiant, and youthful, and _hopeful_. Having been fucked into incoherence hadn't tainted her nature, hadn't made her anything less than what she'd ever been. Perhaps she'd be different once her heart was broken, but you know that a necessary part of _that_ is not being in her life anymore. She'll embrace the pain that you gave her, and inflict the results on some unsuspecting boy who thinks he can deal with a woman's emotions. Maybe she'll pull away, become reticent and fragile. Maybe she'll lash out, irrational and angry. Maybe she'd break so hard that she shattered - but you look at her, and don't think that that's possible. You could make her cry, you know _that_ much. Maybe she would cry like she thought the world was ending, but she wouldn't break. _You're better than that. You're better than me_.

It feels like a lie that you've made your fame with romance novels, the type that she reads, the type that attracted her to you in the first place. You write long into the night, but it's all lies - the most truthful you've ever experienced, but still _lies_. You get fanmail telling you how authentic your words are, and feel more and more like a success and a failure both at once. _Isn't it nice that you can identify with these silly fantasies?_

You were blocked for so long, but an angel descended and reminded you of what you were missing. _Is this what they call a 'muse'?_ You think that you might, just _might_ , be able to finish your trilogy. Perhaps, on that future day, she'll pick up the book and see herself in those words - what might she feel, at that time? Happiness, sadness, nostalgia? Maybe even that space of time would be enough for her to look back on her first love, smiling sadly, thinking of how little she knew.

You finish the paragraph and shut down your laptop for the night, running a hand through your hair and taking a deep drag of your cigarette. _It can't go on like this_. You keep telling yourself that, _because it's true_ , but that doesn't make it any easier. No amount of 'adult experience' makes it easier, but maybe for her, you could pretend that it does. _I'll end it tomorrow_ , you decide. The next time she visits. Inevitably.

(It's always _tomorrow_.)


End file.
